The Difference Between Jonquils and Daffodils
by DTWT
Summary: Prequel to Routine. Gilbert, substitute teacher turned research assistant, wants a lot of things. Apartment 1A is one of them. The only thing between him and it is its tenant. Contains nyo! Characters, please R


The building Gilbert lived in made up one side of a three structured U-shaped complex surrounding a wasteland of a courtyard at the edge of town. Everyone's front doors were on the sides not facing said courtyard, a good thing too, the wasteland was something no one spoke of ever. The piece of shit was meant to bring the so-called community of renters together into some semblance of a pleasant neighborhood experience. It was an awesome failure.

Technically speaking, he was staying in the apartment of the few friends he'd kept in touch with, Francis. Even more technically he was apartment sitting for Francis while the Franglais speaking man was off gallivanting around critiquing restaurants to ensure that they we're 'high class and reasonably priced' for the upper echelons of the middle-upper-middle class, whatever that means. Just thinking about gave Gilbert unawesome headaches, and that simply wouldn't do.

Like when he decided to leave the basement behind just to get away from his brother's ve-ing boyfriend for a weekend to return home to find Feliciano already moved in and Ludwig at the door with a box of his stuff. He'd spoken to Francis and Antonio (another of his friends with an unawesome grouchy boyfriend and the annoying tendency when meeting up with him and Francis to shout "Hey Gil, Fran!" across rooms; it,d happened once, on accident, but now he won't stop) that sometimes he felt like his basement was under siege. Francis, being a good friend offered up his spare room only for Gilbert to laugh and say he didn't need it yet.

Quel coïncidence, indeed Francis.

Usually, Francis would be gone for two weeks at a time, spending a week in between in the apartment 'recuperating' during which Gilbert's alcohol consumption would increase drastically voiding all attempts made trying to talk him into a blind date, hopefully fall in love, grow old and eventually die with. Especially since he no longer inhabited the basement of the family home even though he'd much rather still be living in Berlin. As if Francis has any room to talk about such commitment with all the people who've spent time in his bed.

If he were to take any of his awesome handful of friends seriously about relationships it would be Antonio, he's been head over ass for some grumpy Italian since sixth grade.

Apartment 1A was something Gilbert wanted very much., only one thing stood in the way: its resident.

Francis had a great many things to say about the young woman living there. He'd said she was Italian, but preferred to be known very precisely as Sicilian, on pain of unawesome five minute lectures on the differences. The first week Gilbert had lived with him, he mentioned that she was looking for help with some heavy lifting, but he'd also called her a member of an obscure tribe of Amazonian warriors that dismembered the fathers of their children. However, Francis also made that claim about his sister, Mariane.

As a substitute teacher for a history course at the nearest high school, Gilbert often had stacks of homework to carry up the steps to 4D, the unit he and Francis shared. On most days Francis's parking spot is open, but on this day some idiot took it, probably the asshole in 4A, so he was forced to take one near the A building. Rounding the corner, his younger brother's boyfriend ran right into him.

Liquid seeped into his shirt, "I'm so sorry, please don't hurt me!"

Gilbert could feel his frustration growing bit by bit.

"Feliciano you idiot, don't apologize to someone who should watch where they're going in the first place!"

Ten minutes later, Gilbert was still arguing with the girl and Ludwig had taken Feliciano home, "Next time you better be invited instead of following me home from the market!"

"Give me that shirt, I doubt a moron like you could get it out with step-by-step instructions with pictures."

"Like I'd give a Mädchen like you a shirt like this," he snorted, "and I don't take kindly to sleights at my intelligence."

"Until you give me a reason to believe that, I'll call you what I want. Now hand it over, and it'll be as good as new before Monday."

The worksheets couldn't wait, so reluctantly he abandoned his shirt to an accused Amazon warrior, though he didn't think she was nearly tall enough to be one. There was also the fact that she still had both breasts, not that he was looking.

Saturday arrived and with it Francis. The night was spent in the company of liquor and Antonio, and rants were shared by all. Antonio spent the night before attempting to calm the beast that is his boyfriend because apparently they weren't invited to a dinner party that said rabid boyfriend's brother went to.

Maybe it was the vodka, but that seemed familiar for some reason.

Francis didn't talk much at all, choosing to sulk with a bottle of wine instead of listening to Gilbert tell anyone who would listen about the monster down in 1A.

Sunday morning passed in a haze of missing pants, Gilbert didn't want to know who came home with his roommate. And the afternoon found the pair in the living room debating if Gilbert really should have allowed the girl to take his shirt. Francis rose to fetch water from the filtered pitcher because 'only heathens will drink the swill from the tap.' The doorbell rang.

At first, he was content to allow Francis to deal with whoever it was, up until the poor man was yelled at in what might have been Italian if Gilbert bothered to actually listen, but he was more concerned with how the footstool moved three inches forward and that his face was now uncomfortably familiar with the floor.

Francis was unceremoniously shoved towards the kitchen. "Hallo Mädchen."

"Shut the fuck up moron and take your shirt."

The shirt fluttered dangerously close to the ground and was swiftly snatched up by its owner. Straightening up, he may have checked her out but admitting to it would not have been awesome. Especially since saying so would end up with him dead, if Francis was to be believed.

1A shifted, grabbing at the sleeve of her cardigan. "I was beginning to think you weren't even a girl, Mädchen."

"I just got out of Mass and didn't feel like changing to suit your needs, moron. Either way, you owe me now and I need a favor."

A grin he hadn't felt on his face in years slipped into its honorary place, "You'll have to wait for Francis to leave, unless you're offering up your room." His arms crossed and the doorway became his perch.

Her face reddened, "N-no, that's not-"

"So you want Francis to join us, I'm sure it can be arranged," the grin stretched to a seemingly impossible width.

"I don't want to sleep with you or that French bastard."

"Hey Francis might be hard to get along with but he's not that bad."

"I was going to invite you down for dinner since you're clearly too stupid to cook for yourself."

Gilbert was shoved from the doorway. "Of course he would be happy to join you."

The door slammed shut, her protests going unheard and Francis floated down the hall.

"Mon ami, you go change. I would wear that shirt if I were you. I shall call Antonio and tell him the good news."

"What good news is that?"

"Why the first date you've been on in months. Granted its with someone who's more likely to kill you than kiss you, mais c'est la vie!"

Gilbert stared down the hallway after his friend, the sound of laughter at his expense from two men claiming to be his friends.

"Francis you bastard!"


End file.
